


Kiss It Better

by delinquents



Series: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin [1]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bellarke, Canon Compliant, F/M, Forehead Kisses, Height Differences, Protective Bellamy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delinquents/pseuds/delinquents
Summary: 5+1 Forehead Kisses"nobody needs me""I do. I need you"





	Kiss It Better

1

They've been on earth for a week.

Tents have been re-enforced more times than Clarke would like to count, the kids are in and out of the dropship with cuts and scrapes for Clarke to fix up, and Bellamy's pulling his hair out trying to teach them how to use their weapons and simultaneously _not_ kill themselves or someone else on their side. There have been at least eleven fights break out in camp so far over petty drama they never had to bother about on the Ark, and not everyone is taking too well to their newly appointed roles.

"Carter's threatened to poison the camp if he has to carry on cooking for everyone, and I'm about ninety-eight per cent sure he's not joking."

Clarke's hunched over Jasper's leg as Bellamy saunters his way into the dropship. He only winces slightly at the blood dripping on the floor, which is an improvement from twenty minutes ago when he practically shoved Jasper into Clarke and then found an excuse to leave. Clarke can't keep up with Bellamy's temperant for blood - most of the time he's practically begging to embed his knife in someone's neck (he's made more than a few colorful threats to the campers when they don't listen), but sometimes Clarke's pretty sure he's swallowing down his dinner for the second time that day. 

Jasper's out cold now; a few drops of moonshine down his throat and a heavy dose of the painkillers they got sent down with did the trick long enough for Clarke to inspect, clean and patch up his wound. She's just finished the stitching and is wounding a clean bandage around his leg when Bellamy speaks up again.

"Reckon we could move him to patrol shifts and let Lillian take over? She's always there anyway and takes over half the time, I don't think either one of them would complain," He shrugs, "And quite frankly, I trust Lillian with an open fire way more than I trust Carter."

Clarke ties off the bandage and rises to wash her hands in the basin, "I wouldn't trust Carter with a match stick, it was your idea to put in catering."

"And now we're moving him, problem Princess?" He's leaning against the ladder, his hair tousled from a full day of being out in the wind, and he has dirt smattering his cheeks. 

Clarke's too tired to grind her teeth at the nickname, just sighs and wipes her hands on her pants, "Lillian's just coming back around from that flu a couple of days ago. Give her another three days to fully recover and then we can switch them. Shove Carter in some weapons classes to keep him quiet for now. And for the love of God put Jasper in one too, this is the second time he's been here for a knife related incident and I really don't want to see a third."

"As you wish," Bellamy grunts as he pushes himself back to a standing position and Clarke notices the way he favours his left leg over his right. He catches her eyeing the slash on his pant leg, "It's nothing, one of the kids just threw a knife off angle and-"

Clarke's in front of him all of a sudden, she barely remembers moving and is crouching down to investigate. He stumbles over his words when she puts her left hand on the back of his thigh to steady herself before shutting up completely and staring wide-eyed at her. There's barely a scratch on his leg, a tiny strip of red scab laced with pink the size of her pinky, but it's already well on its way to healing.

"Next time," She cocks her eyebrow at him from her position and smirks slightly at his flushed cheeks, "try not to be in the way, and if you are at least come for a check-up. Lord knows the last time those weapons got cleaned properly."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't make a smart-ass reply, just grunts again and pulls her to her feet by the leather strap of her jacket. She grins at how his cheeks flush darker when her chest bumps into his from the unexpected force, but he ignores her in favor of straightening out her jacket. 

"Get some sleep," His voice is all deep and husky, but he doesn't bother to clear his throat as he catches her eye, "Can't let the princess go around with no sleep. Who knows what you'll order us to do in that case."

"Make Murphy do a striptease in front of the entire camp."

The corner of his mouth tugs up in what Clarke presumes is the start of a genuine smile. They don't joke about, and Clarke has only ever seen him smile when Octavia's just told a joke. It lasts all of one second though before Bellamy seems to remember where they are and falls back into Captain mode, "That what you into, huh? You get off thinking about Murphy striping?"

"Oh goodness no, I'm doing that one for you buddy. I see those lingering looks."

His mouth quirks again, "I better start practising on how to hide them then, can't let our love affair start circulating. I'd never be taken seriously again."

Clarke snorts and Bellamy finally releases a chuckle. Jasper jerks in his sleep and kicks over a bucket of fresh water, snapping the pair from their silent staring. Clarke notices the way his hand clenches in a first by his side when he drops it from where it rested on her shoulder, whilst the other clutches the handle of the knife strapped to his thigh.

"I'll put more water on the list for the scouts tomorrow. They want to go early tomorrow and I still want to check out that bunker."

Her head snaps up from where she'd been looking at his knife, "I'm going with you," Quickly, before he can even begin to argue she puts up her hand and carries on, "These supplies won't last forever, you know, and both of us know you don't have a single clue on what to pick up. Besides, it can't do you any wrong to bring some backup."

She expects him to shoot her down. Try to convince her to stay even though they both know those attempts would be futile. Instead, he sighs deeply and catches her hand still hovering between them. She's caught in surprise when he leans forward and places a chaste kiss to her forehead. It's so quick she barely even registers he did it until he's suddenly stood by the door.

"Meet me at the gate by sun up. If you're late I will leave without you," He says before ducking out into the night. 

Jasper jerks in his sleep again and Clarke catches his ankle before he can kick her.

2

Bellamy stops short just a few paces from the gate, watching as Clarke flips through her little notebook, sleep still in the corner of her eyes. Just two minutes ago Monty informed him that she was up most of the night dealing with Jasper's wound and then there was word that the flu had spread to some of the more stubborn campers who didn't want any medical attention. Apparently, she had been making rounds through the tents to those who believed to have caught it, and Monty saw her stumble into her tent around an hour and a half ago. 

He was so sure that Clarke would have forgotten about today's outing to the bunker, or better yet slept until Bellamy got back. Yet there she is, scribbling down something on what looks like a list and huffing as she tucks a loose bit of hair behind her ear. Her hair's in a braid, probably the same one from yesterday, and the closer he gets to her he can see the baby hairs at the top of her forehead curl and flow in the slight breeze. Her under eyes are dark (but since they landed both of them have gotten little to no sleep). 

As they walk through the forest Bellamy can't help but notice the way her innocence shines through. At camp it's easy to fall into the managerial role; organising their group of delinquents is easy, giving orders is harder but they both know it has to be done. Knows that, despite the protests of others, the others wouldn't have taken that role themselves. 

Bellamy remembers hearing about Clarke's arrest on the Ark. It was supposed to be private, hidden by the elders in order to keep Jake Griffin's crimes. But news that Jake Griffin had been floated and his seventeen-year-old daughter arrested spread quickly, especially when people noticed Abby would be walking by herself, keeping her head down when rumours were taken about not so discreetly. Knowing now, that she was arrested for helping her father try to spread the truth, Bellamy can't help but think she's a little badass.

He couldn't have done that at seventeen. _Wouldn't_ have done that at seventeen. But he had Octavia, had to provide for her and their mother, had to be responsible for people other than himself. Had someone depending on him. Had a job as a guard, was flirting with a pretty girl, was being _seventeen_. He knows now, at twenty-three, that he probably still couldn't do what Clarke's doing. Knows that he's only still alive and giving orders because he has someone backing him, even if that person will argue with him at every given turn.

Now, Clarke's jumping over fallen logs, humming a soft lullaby under her breath, taking Bellamy's hand when they need to climb over something, nodding her head along to the beat of their steps, smiling as a gust of wind makes the leaves dance. When they stumble across a steep drop by their pathway, Clarke shuffles a little closer, keeping a wary eye on the way the hill appears to have collapsed at some point. They walk in silence, a gun tucked into Bellamy's waistband, two knives strapped to his leg and another shoved hastily into Clarke's jacket. 

The land under Bellamy's feet suddenly shifts and Clarke's grabbed his arm and yanked him forward before the path turns into a mini-landslide. The most it could have possibly done was knock him off his feet and move him a couple of inches, but his heart's racing at the sudden movement, and Clarke's got a death grip on his bicep with wide eyes sweeping his body for potential injuries. 

He snorts suddenly, doubling over to laugh it off and tries to ignore (and fails) the way Clarke squeezes his bicep before letting go and smacking his shoulder.

"Oh come on," Bellamy clears his throat to stop laughing and swings his arm around Clarke's shoulders, "Were you worried about me?"

She looks indignant and sniffs, but he notices the way her eyes are watching their path more intently know, all teenage innocence lost completely, "Worried about how I was going to explain to Octavia that her brother was a dumbass who couldn't walk properly."

He lets her have that on, just smacks a kiss to her forehead and carries on walking.

3

Monty and Miller made moonshine. Monty and Miller made _a lot_ of moonshines. It's a fact that needs to be celebrated by drinking all of the moonshine, apparently, but Clarke's joining in the festivities and so Bellamy doesn't seem to mind joining in for a few drinks as well. He did, however, swipe a few bottles and stash them in the dropship for Clarke's medical procedures - she'd been complaining about having nothing to sterilise the equipment in. 

She's dancing with Octavia, both with a drink in their hands and smiles on their faces. Bellamy keeps an eye on both of them as he chats with Miller about his latest project, but he's really only half listening. Octavia's telling a story and is using her hands to navigate it, and Clarke's laughing hysterically, head thrown back or lent on his sister's shoulder most of the time. They both calm down long enough to sweep their eyes around camp before they land on Bellamy and then they're nearly on the floor laughing again.

Miller's talking to someone else now, and so Bellamy grabs a bottle on his way to his girls. He stops short at the realisation that since their first step on Earth, it's been Clarke and Octavia on his watch list. Not just Octavia.

He's oddly okay with that.

Clarke gives him such a warm smile when he slings an arm around her neck, so completely out of character for both of them, yet something they don't seem to question anymore. It's been three months since that incident in the dropship when Jasper hurt himself, and whilst physical contact between them is still at an all-time minimum, they still seem to lean into each other. 

"I was just telling Clarke about that time you tried to sew my shirt when I ripped a hole in it, remember?" Octavia was saying; she's drunk enough to not linger on his arm around Clarke's shoulder, "You chose the ugliest color thread possible and didn't know how to sew," She turns back to Clarke, obviously not done with the story, "Okay, so he's all _'duh, of course, I know what I'm doing'_ right, and at the end it's literally just a patch of orange thread on my tee shirt and he just goes _'well you like orange'_ , and then gets mad at _me_ when an hour later the thread's all undone because someone can't actually sew and forgot to secure it."

Clarke turns to him, she looks tired and happy all at once, and Bellamy's torn between wrapping her up in her blankets for some sleep and keeping her at the party. She never gets to let loose, he'll give her tonight. 

"Maybe we should get you a sewing kit, quite a few of this lot are running around with clothes that need patching up. What do ya say? Want to be known as Seamstress Blake?"

Octavia howls with laughter and Clarke's body shakes against his with silent chuckles. He rolls his eyes at the joke and takes a swing right from the bottle to hide the way his mouth curves into a grin. Clarke winks at him and takes the bottle from his hands, topping up Octavia's cup and then taking a drink directly from the bottle before passing it back to Bellamy. 

Clarke launches into the story about the landslide from two days ago and Bellamy rolls his eyes again. 

_She can have tonight_ , he thinks as he kisses her temple, _I'll get her back tomorrow_

4

Clarke fell asleep at the makeshift desk in the dropship. He finds her five hours after sundown, arms crossed and nose in the crook of her elbow. Her hair's tangled into a bun at the top of her head, medical notes scattered across the place, equipment was strewn across the little workspace not covered by sheets of paper. 

He had taken patrol that night. It had been tough, with an unexpected attack on their trek to the river just hours ago, and not many of those who came back from it wanted to do the nightly route. Clarke would kill him when she finds out he took it upon himself to do it, but she had her own problems piling up with some allergic reaction from the new leaves they were using to create temporary heat pads. 

They've both had little sleep for a while, dealing with one issue after another. The number of times they've seen the other's shadow slip in and out of their tents at god-awful hours of the night couldn't be counted. Clarke though, Clarke's been pushed to her absolute limit. Questions about wounds, huts, tents, patrol routes, moonshine, heat, freshwater seem to bombard her constantly, and Bellamy can only do so much to help her deal with them. Half the time he's making things up as he goes along, but if Clarke's doing the same thing she's doing a lot better at hiding it. 

Clarke looks and feels small in his arms, she nuzzles into his shoulder once the night breeze hits her, and murmurs gently when he ducks into her tent. It's exactly like Clarke to have a tent so neat and chaotic at the same time, bed furs chucked loosely on the thin mattress but not touching the dirt floor, notes piled hazardly on the desk, a dirty jacket in a heap on the floor but away from her clean one, one boot knocked over and streaked with mud whilst the other one stands upright by the flap. 

He takes off Clarke's boots and jacket, slings the jacket over her chair and stands the boots up by her other pair, picking up the knocked over one in the process. Clarke murmurs again and tucks herself under the fur blankets, smiling lazily under the heavy warmth. Bellamy catches himself smiling softly, and can't resist pressing a soft kiss to her exposed forehead. Her fingers twitch on the top of the furs but relax quickly. 

He ducks out of the tent again, picking up the dirty jacket on his way out.

5

She's standing by the fire pit early the next morning, using the toe of her boot to kick a piece of ash away from her. A few campers are only just stumbling out of their tents, but mostly ignore him as he makes his way to sit next to her. He places her newly cleaned jacket on her lap and steals her cup. It's bitter coffee, obviously, she got too impatient to wait for the beans to properly boil before dunking her mug into the pot, but Clarke likes her coffee bitter anyway. 

"Thank you," She says softly, using her right hand to pop open the breast pocket and close it again, repeating this action. She's still in the clothes from yesterday but then again so is he. If anyway were to look at them now they would take one look at their rumpled clothes and messy hair and probably presume they spent the night together. Granted, Clarke's bed looked a whole lot more inviting than his did, but he was too tired to turn back around last night and so fell into bed, already asleep before his head hit the pillow. He's been awake long enough to change his clothes now, and maybe try to run his fingers through his hair to neaten it up a bit, but he was focused on getting the mud stains out of her jacket.

He shrugs in response and hands her mug back. They don't speak after that. Bellamy goes to sort out today's patrol and Clarke polished off her coffee before heading to find Lillian and see how she's handling her new position as a cook. They're pulled in opposite directions all day, focusing on three tasks at once each and it only calms down around dinner time. 

Bellamy stands at a lose for himself at first. He's usually rushing to finish tasks whilst everyone's eating, so he tends to eat the few bits of food left in the pot, making sure to leave some for Clarke in case she hasn't eaten yet either. He spots Clarke sitting off to the side, munching on a plate of food whilst looking into the fire. Her clean jacket's on, her other draped over her knees like a blanket. She catches him looking at her and pats the space next to her on the log. 

Soon enough the plate is balanced on one of Bellamy's knees and they're both picking at the food together. Clarke yawns widely and rests her head against his shoulder, popping another piece of cold meat into her mouth. Bellamy sighs, relaxing a little more because he knows his shoulders won't be comfy if he sits so tense. The campers around them are laughing and picking fun at each other, seemingly enjoying just being there altogether, and Bellamy's struck with the realization that had he not been twenty-three when he landed he probably would have been doing the same thing.

Then he's struck with the realization that _no, he wouldn't_. Because Clarke's just turned eighteen and is right alongside him, dealing with the deaths of the other 100 that haven't made it, carried the burden of leading an organisation and staying alive so that the others don't have to. 

"We've done good," He whispers, and Clarke catches his hand into her own. He squeezes her fingers when she repeats his own words back to him, and he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. She's asleep within ten minutes, and this time he lets himself fall asleep next to her, only because he places them both in his tent (he tells himself it's closer, ignores the way he likes it when she nuzzles her nose into his collarbone and hums lowly in her sleep).

+1

Clarke's awake thirty minutes before he is. The camp is quiet, all the others still asleep, no one needs them for an emergency and Clarke takes one morning to let herself lie in. His tent is a little bigger than hers, and it's closer to their wall so the sun doesn't creep through the thin material as early as it does with her tent. It's slowly seeping through over the wall though, casting golden rays onto the bed furs and highlighting the messy curls of bed-haired Bellamy.

He has an arm tucked around Clarke's waist loosely, the other above her head, strands of her hair twirled around his fingers. Clarke just smiles as he hums in his sleep and twists his head further towards her. 

Bellamy wakes up twenty minutes later, finding Clarke back asleep. She's shuffled closer, their legs entangled and his chin against her collar now. Her lips are pressed against his forehead, and Bellamy smiles, lingering in her embrace until the now-awake campers demand their attention. 


End file.
